Flirting for the Socially Inept
by Blancwene
Summary: Tonks embarks on a mission to cheer Remus up ... but is that what she really wants?
1. Part 1 Clumsy

_AN: I hate getting sidetracked. I was working on an uber-long, dark Lupin fic when I just had the urge to write a Remus & Tonks story with slight romantic inclinations. Thus, this story. I don't want another long, sprawling fic, so I'm ending it after five chapters. Hopefully it's not too OOC. Enjoy!_

_

* * *

_

**

* * *

**

**Flirting for the Socially Inept**

**Part I- Clumsy**

Nymphadora Tonks prided herself on being a very social person. She enjoyed speaking with others, for not only did it satisfy her burning desire to converse with all types of oddballs, but such conversations always provided the opportunity to test the Muggle psychological ideas her father used to throw at her.

That didn't mean she was adept at interacting with others, though. Tonks, for all her good intentions, was as clumsy with speech as she was with movement. She was continuously mentioning the wrong things at inappropriate moments, and the realization that she was hopeless when it came to polite chitchat only increased her physical gaucherie.

Take last week's Order meeting, for instance: Tonks ranted for five minutes about the evilness of Slytherins before noticing that she stood three feet from Snape, then tripped over a footstool and head butted the Potions Master in the knees; elbowed Kingsley Shaklebolt in the back and mispronounced his mother's occupation (when had "mediwitch" ever become so difficult to say?); and finally, spilled her tea on Remus Lupin's new trousers after joking about the multiple meanings of a "blue moon."

And really, the only person she felt compelled to apologise to was Remus. Repeatedly, sounding somewhat like a broken record: "Oh god, I'm sorry - so sorry - dreadfully sorry - oi, watch out! - oops - sorry - please forgive me - ow - sorry again ... "

Her hair had turned a bright red shade, unconsciously reflecting her embarrassment (well, at least it was better than the dull silver color that appeared whenever she was depressed), and Tonks spent the remainder of the evening sulking in her little bedroom at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She had her own flat, but tended to spend most of her time at the old Black house; her apartment was just an official residence for Auror purposes, and besides, it was as messy as hell. Order Headquarters was now kept immaculately neat (not just due to Molly Weasley's handiwork - more than once she'd caught Remus cleaning the kitchen when he _thought_ no one was home), and it was ... well, soothing in a screwball way. Biweekly meetings, visitors popping in and out at the most random hours, and a few permanent occupants.

Tonks stretched out on her mismatched couch and paused. Moody didn't really count as a resident at number twelve, Grimmauld Place; he was always patrolling and extolling the virtues of "constant vigilance." Kingsley preferred the comfort of his own home, the Weasley twins thought the house too "public" and spent most of the time at their joke shop, the rest of the Weasleys weren't due to arrive for another two weeks, and Sirius ... Sirius was-

That left just her, and Remus.

She tried to cross her legs, lost her balance, and fell facedown off the sofa. Bloody hell. Crawling towards the door, she eventually managed to stand upright and leaned against the wall. Despite having spent almost eleven months with the Order, Tonks didn't _know_ Remus. Oh, she had talked to the man plenty of times at meetings or dinner, and Sirius had always managed to drag her along to Marauder reminiscing sessions with the never-fulfilled promise of hexing Snape on her birthday.

But she didn't count "official business" or recounts of old pranks as ways to properly acquaint oneself with an intriguing human being ... werewolf ... whatever.

It wasn't her fault, really; Remus wasn't exactly what you could call talkative. Most evenings, he cooked dinner (Molly didn't allow her within seven metres of the kitchen, and Tonks knew it was probably safest for the other people in the house that she wasn't permitted near the food), then retired to the front parlour with another large, old, dull book from the library. He would sit there for hours, on the left side of that ugly tartan sofa (he followed the same routine so precisely that Tonks had it memorized within a week), reading until he either finished or felt too tired to continue, then retreat to his bedroom.

He never initiated conversation, either; if Tonks were to enter, he would keep reading calmly, answer her inquiries in quiet monosyllables, then return to his task.

It was sodding annoying.

Where was Remus Lupin, marauder and troublemaker? The story was still being told of how Remus served four weeks of detention after he charmed all the Slytherin dinnerware to repel food during his sixth year at Hogwarts. And yet here he was, moping silently around the house, reading stupid works of nonfiction, and acting like an overall prick. Tonks had to do something about it.

She stomped down the stairs and stopped in the doorway of the parlour. First things first - before she pushed Remus back on the path of mischief and trickery, she needed to get him to acknowledge her presence.

Tonks cleared her throat loudly and struck an irritated pose.

Remus didn't even blink.

She staggered over to the couch and threw herself in the right corner, sighing dramatically. Remus stirred his soup slowly, turned the next page of his book, and continued to read.

Tonks decided that as long as he eventually put the book up, she could cautiously and conscientiously begin the conversation. "D'you always have to read?"

"Yes."

She stuck her tongue out musingly. "Why?"

"I learn things. It gives me something to do."

Tonks reached for an old _Prophet_ on the coffee table and missed, smacking her head against another footstool. "I'm not saying books are horrid. It's just that they must be amusing and short, or they're not worth the effort."

Remus didn't respond.

"So ... whatcha reading?"

He looked at the spine then went back to his reading. "_Egyptian Mythology and the Ancient Wizarding World_."

"Oh." She pondered how that could interest anyone, but found no logical reasons for why he was so rapt in his selection. "Are you planning a trip to Egypt?"

Remus frowned. "No."

"Oh. Is Bill going back to Egypt?"

"No."

Tonks drummed a not-quite syncopated beat on the armrest. "Then why are you reading it?"

Remus shot her look of utter astonishment. "Because I want to."

"Weird. How is it?"

"My book?" he said slowly.

She smiled. "What else?"

"It's informative, I suppose," Remus stated, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Well, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything in _forever_. If someone would just allow me to make my own lunch ... but oh, no, I'm a danger to others," she whined, focused intently on his face.

"I made soup. It's in the kitchen." He went back to his reading.

Tonks groaned. She needed a new strategy. She concluded that getting the food could grant her enough time to think up a new plan, so she stumbled back out of the parlour and tried to tiptoe past the pictures. Mrs. Black still refused to be taken off the wall, and what the hag termed Sirius's "incompetence" had only magnified her malicious spews.

The lunch wasn't difficult to spot: a bowl of onion soup on a tray, a piece of buttered toast, a spoon, a rather large napkin, and -

Dammit.

The Pink Indestructible Cup.

Tonks hated the P.I.C., as Fred (or was it George?) had fittingly dubbed the vile object. Molly had bought it for her a few weeks back, so she'd stop breaking glassware. Mad-Eye had turned out to be quite good at repairing plates and cups, but once Tonks destroyed them they were never the same, in insignificant little ways that apparently aggravated the Weasley matriarch. The P.I.C. had appeared on the kitchen counter one day, shining in all its rosy, heavily charmed monstrousness. Fred and George had found the child's cup highly amusing, going so far as to write _Property of N. Tonks - do not molest_ on the surface in enchanted acrylic paint - which Tonks had yet to remove.

She crept closer and glared at the offending glass, then moaned. Remus had placed another of Molly's purchases - a sippy top - over the rim, so the P.I.C. was not only unbreakable but now also unspillable. And since the full moon was six days away, it probably contained unsweetened tea - another of her dislikes.

Tonks grabbed the tray carelessly and stalked upstairs towards the front parlour again. Barely missing a footstool, she dropped onto the couch, spilled some of the soup onto the carpet, and started at her meal in stony silence.

Halfway through her soup, she paused and glanced over at Remus. He was still diligently reading, though she noticed that he occasionally glanced over to check her tray's proximity to himself.

"So ... " she said, trying to think up an intelligent query, "Egyptian mythology was based on wizard stuff?"

"Mmm," he said, turning the page.

She persisted. "Like what? Was the god of the underworld really a magical mass murderer?"

He stopped, and studied the coffee table for a few seconds. "Not exactly."

She began to hum one of her favorite Weird Sisters tunes, loudly and off-pitched, and grinned as Remus winced painfully. He examined the table for several moments, then continued. "Egyptian Muggle deities acquired traits of prominent wizards and witches from several millennia ago. For instance, the god of chaos, Set, was believed to have great control over the weather. But according to wizard records, from 5000 years ago, a dark wizard named Setuchepel plagued the city of Thebes with sandstorms for three years."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "How interesting." She stirred her soup casually and tried a different approach. "Which d'you think has a higher probability of occurring this year: the Chudley Cannons winning the British Cup or Bill Weasley cutting his hair?"

"Hmm." Remus ceased reading entirely and stared at the carpet thoughtfully. "If the Cannons get a new Keeper and Seeker, that might be possible. But I don't think Bill will give into Molly's demands any time soon."

She nodded, and took a sip from the P.I.C. Plain, slightly cold tea, without a trace of sugar or milk or honey or anything to detract from the bitter flavor. Tonks made no attempt to hide her disgust and gagged. "Oi, your taste in beverages is awful."

"Thank you," he said.

Was that a smirk?

Shaking with excitement, she pried the top off the P.I.C. and pursued her previous statement. "No, really. Tea only tastes good with large amounts of sweetener."

His attention turned back to the damned book, and she barely restrained herself from swearing in disappointment. "Most people drink it for the caffeine, not because they enjoy it. Besides, Snape said I should avoid sugar with the Potion."

"Snape's a sod," she said frankly, using her wand to spin the P.I.C. slowly on her tray. "He just wants to make everyone else's life miserable. He failed me in Potions twice."

Remus eyed her cup nervously, then returned to his reading. "Yes, but he does know what he's talking about. Sugar and Wolfsbane do not mix well. Chocolate, too, causes ... ill ... effects."

Tonks muttered a levitation spell and watched as the P.I.C. raised a metre and a half above the couch. "Really? Like what?"

"Mood changes. Odd behavioural quirks."

Her soup bowl climbed in the air to join the P.I.C. in a wobbly aerial dance. "I'm guessing you know this from personal experience?"

"Well ... yes. It's a long story." He looked at the twirling dinnerware. "You shouldn't play with your food."

She frowned, and charmed her spoon to join the fray. "I've got it under control."

Remus pursed his lips and began to close his book. "That cup is full of staining tea, and onion soup is very difficult to remove from muslin. Which this couch is made out of."

"Really?" Tonks raised an eyebrow and added her tray to the spinning display. "I hadn't noticed."

He watched the demonstration carefully, his book not shut but still resting in his lap. "I'm just warning you ... "

"Well, _thank you_, but I do know what I'm doing. Never had a problem in Charms. Professor Flitwick said I had a talent for maintaining several different tasks-"

The front door slammed open, Moody's footsteps sounded in the hallway, Mrs. Black burst forth with venomous energy into a comprehensive description of the ex-Auror's faults - and Tonks completely lost her concentration.

She realized in horror that the P.I.C. and bowl were more orientated towards Remus than herself, but it was too late - her playthings crashed onto the sofa, dousing the man with dark tea and the sticky remains of her soup. She stared aghast at him for several seconds, then burst into hysterical giggles.

Remus blinked, wiping his face with his sleeve and inadvertently creating even more of a mess. His jumper was in a fairly sorry condition, and the book dripped brown liquid into the carpet, obviously ruined. He stood slowly, then - amazingly - smiled.

"Thank you, Tonks. And how has your day been?"

_tbc_


	2. Part 2 Good Intentions

_AN: Chapters and ideas are coming along quickly, which is just fine with me. Thanks to Nat for providing the inspiration for knitting Tonks, Ayla for bugging me to put a little Forge in, and Élise and Luc for betaing/telling me when something sucks while I'm babysitting. And most of all, thanks for clicking! Je vous aime._

_

* * *

_

* * *

**Part II- Good Intentions**

"Knit one, purl two ... no, stop! I mean, knit two, purl one - that should do the ... oh, bugger it!"

Tonks threw a book at the knitting needles and winced as her elbow smacked against the wall in the process. Molly had made it seem so simple: charm the needles, give them ample yarn, make sure you voiced the proper stitches. It appeared easy.

She glanced at the yellow woolen mess in the other armchair and shook her head. What had she been thinking? She couldn't even get her Scourgify spell to work properly, for Merlin's sake. Remus's jumper might have recovered from the levitating soup incident if she hadn't insisted on cleaning it herself.

"Start over," Tonks muttered, watching as the needles ripped out their handiwork and began again. "Knit one, purl one - what the hell, just make a jumper. I don't know what I'm doing."

She pulled her knees up to her chest and craned her neck to look at the slumbering figure on the couch. Remus was out like a log; when she and Kingsley had arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld Place that morning after a weeklong Auror assignment, she'd thought for one panicked moment that he was dead. People didn't sleep that soundly. But after checking his pulse and nearly destroying the kitchen while trying to get a glass of water, she realised she was acting nutters again. He was just sleeping. She brought him a blanket, poked him repeatedly, then let him dream in peace.

After all, he was certainly entitled to a little rest. A quick look at the calendar had revealed that the full moon was yesterday, so Remus at least had a reason to be tired.

Tonks reached for the novel she'd been perusing (_True Identity_ - a romantic tragedy complete with Polyjuice Potions and the Impervious Curse) and tried not to worry about her malfunctioning knitting needles. Worrying was Remus's specialty, after all - cheery optimism being more of her thing. But she couldn't help returning to the matter of how she was going to replace his ruined article of clothing. She hadn't meant to damage the jumper; but her mum had taught her long ago that good intentions did not always guarantee successful endeavours. In fact, many times the phrase "I just want to help" created irrevocable chaos.

She merely wanted to apologise for her stupidity and lack of maturity. She'd had to leave for work shortly after the not-to-be-discussed-P.I.C.-related accident, and a seven-day sojourn in Inverness chasing an imaginary Rodolphus Lestrange had kept her away from headquarters for some time.

But the unsuccessful capture attempt had luckily given Tonks a brilliant plan to show Remus that she was sorry. She procured all the necessary items from the Burrow on her way home, and immediately set out to make Remus a new jumper. If Hermione could make hats and socks for house-elves then she, Nymphadora Isis Tonks, could knit a grown man's sweater.

She looked back over her shoulder. If he hadn't just turned his head, she would have mistaken Remus for dead again - she could barely tell he was breathing. Raising up her book, she flipped to Chapter 17 ("_I only pretended to be the Minister of Magic because I loved you, Charlotte!_") and tried to ignore her knitting.

A loud crack sounded in front of her, and she dropped the novel, squealing. "Fred-or-George, I thought Mad-Eye told you to stop that!"

The Weasley twin smirked, fanning himself with the pile of letters he held in his left hand. "You're just jealous. What am I supposed to do, Apparate in the hallway and have that hag on the wall insult my family?"

"Knock on the door!" Tonks said, checking to make sure Remus was still alive. "Or use common courtesy when Apparating. Like, don't appear on top of or directly in front of people, or behind people, or in a way that gives others heart attacks ... you could have woken him up!" she cried, pointing at the couch.

"Who? Oh, Lupin. He's been there since eight o'clock. He'll sleep through anything, except perhaps a life-threatening situation."

Tonks glowered. "Well, Fred, I'm threatening yours."

He smiled again. "George."

"Whatever. Did you get the owl post?"

George sorted through the mail at a snail's pace. "Yes, Ms. Obvious. Lunch break, dontcha know. When did you get back?"

"Around eleven. Kingsley's trying to fix the mirror in the upstairs loo; it refused to show me my reflection."

"Bellatrix the bitch's husband still on the loose, then?" he asked, skimming through a magazine interestedly.

Tonks peered at the cover suspiciously. "Unfortunately. Although I don't think he would have stayed in Azkaban again long, anyway. Now that the dementors ... " Her hair darkened, and her eyes widened as she recognized George's reading material. "_Naughty Bad Witches_! George Weasley!"

He winked. "You sound like my mum."

"Do you know what's in that? George Weasley! I hope that's not yours."

George sighed, and shoved a broomstick catalogue in her face. "There's a full-page ad for the Special Edition Firebolt on page fourteen."

Tonks looked at the moving pictures, mesmerized, the inappropriate periodical temporarily forgotten. "Ooo! When's my next paycheck? I'm still riding a Comet 260, but the latest Cleansweep looks nice - better turning, and a new fail-safe braking system."

"Ron got one back in August, and it's pretty swell. Can't compare with Harry's, though."

She studied the foldout insert closely, cooing in delight. "Bill and Charlie wouldn't let me join the Quidditch team - said a certain standard had to be upheld ... and I've never fallen off a broom in my life! Columbine Parsons was a Chaser in my sixth year, and she had the worst accuracy, but since she was Charlie's 'current romantic interest' no one ever told her how lousy she played. I would've made a grand Beater. Redheaded buggers ... sorry, Fred."

"George," he corrected again, leaning against the coffee table, his eyes slowly scanning the room - then stopping as he spotted the armchair. "What the hell?"

"I'm knitting," she stated, a little primly. "A jumper. For Remus. I ruined his old grey one."

"You're knitting?"

Tonks put the catalogue down and exhaled noisily. "Didn't I just say that? I dropped by the Burrow before coming here and got a few pointers from your mum. I keep forgetting the correct stitches; perhaps I should have written -"

"You're knitting?" George repeated, dumbfounded.

Tonks jumped to her feet rather suddenly, nearly slipping on the rug, and shot the twin a deadly glare. "What, I'm not allowed to do that? Am I banned from crafty activities now, too?"

"No, but ... "

She attempted to stalk towards him, but collided with the chess set and crashed into the wall. "I see. I'm too _clumsy_ to do something as simple as charm some needles, is that it?"

"No - Tonks, you're being a bit ... "

"UNREASONABLE?" she screamed. "WELL, I BLOODY DON'T CARE! I'M A BLOODY AUROR, AND I'LL DO WHATEVER I SODDING PLEASE!"

_"Blood traitors - Mudbloods - defiling the place of my fathers!"_

Tonks sprinted into the hallway, skidding to a halt before she collided with the portrait. George arrived right on her heels, and tugged on the left curtain that had five seconds before hid Mrs. Black.

"Good going, Tonks," he whispered.

She grabbed the other curtain and yanked forcefully. The old woman in the picture continued to drool and wail, then the hangings snapped shut and Tonks head-butted George rather painfully.

"Ow." He steadied her, rubbed his temples, then winked. "Sorry 'bout that. See you at dinner."

George stepped into the parlour and Disapparated, and Tonks staggered back to her chair slowly. She bent down to pick up the scattered pieces of mail, then straightened up and saw Remus staring groggily in her direction.

"Someone Apparate - picture - mail?" he croaked.

"George. I'm so sorry I woke you up - he was provoking me." She separated the assortment of advertisements and bills and tossed a few envelopes at him. "D'you feel all right? I got you a blanket earlier - you looked a little cold."

Remus sat up, blinking at his mail. His eyes gradually regained their usual level of alertness, but Tonks could tell that he was worn-out - he was in the middle of the couch, and still had the afghan pulled up to his chest. When he finally spoke, he sounded pretty close to his normal self; a little hoarse, but quite coherent. "You didn't catch Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Not even close. If I'd have known that I would be spending seven days hiding out in the woods of Scotland waiting for something that never happened, I would have stopped by Hogsmeade beforehand and bought some chocolate frogs."

He smiled faintly. "Would you rather have been ambushed by a group of Death Eaters?"

"Well, at least then I would've had some excitement to alleviate the utter boredom."

"Nothing more exhilarating than the chance of sudden death."

Tonks reached for something to toss at him, recognized George's abandoned copy of _Naughty Bad Witches_, and promptly shredded it. She shook the remaining letters at him menacingly. "Oi, watch yourself.

He threw away some junk mail and shook his head. "You're such a sweet girl, Nymphadora. Bullying an exhausted werewolf. What new lows will you hit next?"

"What about you, Remus Lupin? Spouting dark, angstful thoughts and irking a Metamorphmagus."

Remus tore open another envelope and sent her a look of mock indignation. "Tonks, there's a difference between contemplation and angst. Have you learned anything from your time in the Order?"

"Hmmm ... Molly Weasley on a bad day is a more terrifying enemy than You-Know-Who." She looked at the knitting needles and snorted happily, clapping her hands. "Look, Remus! It's done!"

"What?" He frowned, glancing up from a bill to look at her perplexingly.

Tonks stomped forward, grabbed the yellow blob, and dropped next to him on the sofa. "I'm so sorry about, you know, that accident with the cup and soup - I shouldn't have tried to do a cleaning spell while laughing; had no idea it'd set your jumper on fire - so I made you this."

She pulled the needles off, muttered a simple severing charm, and handed him the completed jumper proudly. Remus took it cautiously, his mouth hanging open.

"Tonks, you didn't have to do this - Merlin's mother - it's ... um ... yellow."

She grinned. "Nice and bright and cheery, eh? You need to wear more colours. Grey isn't a good shade for you."

"I like grey," he murmured absently, examining the jumper. "It's certainly ... good god."

"What now?"

Remus turned the jumper slowly, and it began to dawn on her that something was missing - something wasn't quite right -

"Bloody hell." Tonks groaned. "I thought I was doing something wrong."

"How can you forget the sleeves? They're a rather essential part."

"Oi, you try to knit with confusing directions from Molly and no previous experience, and I'll see how well _you_ do."

Remus folded it carefully and placed it on the coffee table. "Thank you, Tonks. I'm sure it will make a lovely pillowcase ... or something."

She grabbed the broom catalogue and reopened it to the Firebolt ad. "Shut it. And you owe me now."

He raised an eyebrow. "I do?"

"Yes. Sodding embarrassing, having one's gift turn out to be horribly defective. So you'll have to repay me somehow."

"Tonks, that's one of the worst non sequitors I've ever heard. _Ex nihilo nihil fit_."

She leaned against his shoulder; he started to move to the other side of the couch, but gave up after she smacked him with her magazine. "_Nolite te bastardes carborundorum_. And if you say that's fake Latin, I'll hit you again."

Remus smiled as his eyes dropped shut. "S'ok. What do I have to do in exchange for the obscenely bright tea cosy?"

"You'll see," Tonks said, kicking his discarded mail broodingly. "You will see."

_tbc_

_

* * *

_

_

* * *

_

Notes:  
_Ex nihilo nihil fit_ - Out of nothing, nothing comes.  
_Nolite te bastardes carborundorum_ - Don't let the bastards grind you down.  
(Fake Latin courtesy of _A Handmaid's Tale_ by Margaret Atwood.)


	3. Part 3 Nunc aut Nunquam

_AN: Sorry for the delay. Due to bad weather, misbehaving characters, and a misbehaving author, this chapter didn't get typed up until several days after I'd written it. Huggles again to Ayla for promoting Fred and George mischief (though I'm not quite sure what to make of her demands for a Tonks/Twins romance). Thanks for clicking, et j'aime tout le monde qui lit et répond!_

_

* * *

_

* * *

**  
Part III- Nunc aut Nunquam**

"I am not doing that."

Tonks dropped the odd Muggle object she had been playing with on the kitchen table and rolled her eyes at Remus. She had expected a little resistance to her brilliant plan, true, but not outright denial. "You _said_ you'd pay me back for the jumper."

Remus continued to stir his cauldron calmly. "I didn't know it would involve immature pranks. No."

"You know what you are, Remus Lupin? You are an insufferable git. Fred and George are _always_-"

"-acting like idiots, but they're also eighteen years old."

"And Dung's much worse, he's always bringing illegal things-"

"-home, but I don't condone Dung's behaviour, either. I promised to do something for you under the impression that it would neither endanger my life nor open myself up to Dumbledore's criticism. No, Tonks. That's my final answer."

She stuck her tongue out at him indignantly and returned to the cube. How Muggles could actually get the thing to show a different color on each face without magic was beyond her. The kitchen lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

Tonks threw the toy (what had Arthur called it? A Ruby cube?) down again and tried to bring the topic back up. "They deserve it. They've been bugging me for months now. I swear, Fred and George must've sat down one day and decided that pissing off Tonks was an enjoyable experience."

Remus shook his head. "No."

"Please? You haven't seen half the stunts they've pulled. Like Apparating on top of my feet, or slipping fireworks under the door while I was sleeping. Just one good jinx should show them ... "

He cut in more sharply than she anticipated. Still not angry - Remus's self control was too strong for that - but fairly irritated. "I think I made my decision quite clear. If I do something to them, they'll turn on me. Having a scapegoat is useful."

Tonks winked at him. "Don't try to pull one over me. You're like the twins' idol. Remus Lupin, one of the creators of the Marauder Map; an example to all the young mischief-makers of the world. Seeking revenge on them for me would only give them another reason to venerate you. And if you take certain precautions to ensure that they don't immediately know the identity of their attacker, you could ... " She stopped, and returned to the cube. Remus looked up from his cooking interestedly.

"Well, that could - no, no. Don't plant ideas in my head. Besides, Mad-Eye would notice if his Invisibility Cloak was missing. He only has one."

She crossed her legs and thought hard. "Someone else has to own one. They're damn useful - I wish I could get one for my birthday. I mean, now that I'm a respectable adult, I would use it most of the time for Order business. And other stuff."

"Harry has an Invisibility Cloak," Remus said. "But he's staying with those awful Muggles; Dumbledore said he has to stay at Privet Drive through the end of July, at least."

"So we ask him if we could borrow it-"

He dropped some vegetables into the pot and frowned disapprovingly. "How do you propose we do that? Send a letter by owl post? 'Dear Harry - May we use your Invisibility Cloak to hex the Weasley twins? Leave it on the back doorstep Thursday night, and we'll return it to you as soon as possible.' "

Tonks snorted. "Don't be obnoxious. I'll contact Arabella, Apparate in, grab the cloak, leave a note and some sweets, and then return it once you-"

"No," he said emphatically. "Harry would feel like he's missing out, and that wouldn't be right. It's bad enough that he's forced to stay with the Dursleys most of the summer anyway."

Remus paused. His expression never changed, but Tonks noticed that his eyes were different - brighter - almost as though someone had lit a flame just behind his pupils. She leaned back casually and smiled. This was what she had waited nearly a year to see: plotting, furtive Remus, a wiser and more cautious version of the young mastermind behind some of the Marauders' most elaborate schemes.

And he looked ... happier. Perhaps the stratagem brewing in his mind had dampened the great sense of loss he always seemed to carry- never voiced, but always present. Sometimes, that damn grief was so pronounced that it hurt her just to see him moping mutely around headquarters. Yet for once, Remus Lupin was almost happy.

She tinkered with her cube for a few more seconds, trying to make one of the faces full of only blue boxes. She knew she couldn't erase the pain behind Sirius's and the Potters' deaths, but she had found a way to help: give Remus other things to think about.

He wasn't going to back out of this prank now.

"But you must know someone else who has a cloak."

He affected surprise. "Why would you say that?"

"Oi, come now. I might not have been good at Divination, but your aura is pulsing with tomfoolery."

"Well," Remus said, dragging out the suspense by pretending to inspect his cauldron, "Once, James and I had a conversation about Invisibility Cloaks. You see, he wasn't the only one at Hogwarts with one ... granted, she was several years above us, but that doesn't matter."

Tonks abandoned all pretense of playing with the cube and slammed it down on the table in frustration. "Don't be a bloody prick, Remus!"

"I was getting there. I'm surprised you were never privy to this piece of information. Andromeda Black owned a cloak."

She stared at him blankly. "What? My mum? How she'd get that?"

He tested the stew and added a few spices. "Your grandfather. Apparently, each of the Black sisters got a special gift on their seventeenth birthday. I think Narcissa asked for an enchanted mirror-"

"Self-infatuated snob."

"No, not exactly. An enchanted mirror that forced a person who passed it to reveal their true intentions. Lucius Malfoy has employed a similar charm on the main hallway in the Malfoy Manor. That's why we haven't tried to penetrate it yet."

Tonks tapped the cube lazily with her wand tip and barely watched as it snapped into the proper arrangement. "Ick. Narcissa always was an evil nutter. Bellatrix?"

He placed his ladle on the table and shook his head. "I never heard what she got. Probably something quite vile."

"And chock-filled with Dark magic. Why did Mum never tell me she has a cloak?"

Remus just gave her a smug smile as he searched for clean dinnerware. "She most likely knew that her daughter would try to 'borrow' it and use it to promote bad behaviour."

Tonks accepted a plate from him quietly and picked at the lumps of potato and carrot in her stew, trying to find a new way to convince him.

She settled for some pointless small talk while her brain sweated its way through her current puzzle. "We never have any variety in meals here. D'you know that?"

"Oh yes?" he asked, spooning the mush absently.

"Of course yes. Today's Tuesday, and I came home on Friday. And we have had soup or stew every single day. I'm bloody sick of it."

Remus swallowed his mouthful and looked reflective. "You don't say. What would you prefer?"

She stabbed a piece of roast with the end of her spoon and nearly overturned the entire plate onto her lap. "Well, fish and chips would be nice. I haven't had them in a long time. Steak and kidney pie, with a treacle tart for dessert. Or ... takeout. Muggle takeout," she clarified, watching Remus glance up attentively.

"Tell you what," she continued, trying to flick some crumbs onto her napkin but actually dropping them on her new shirt. "I'll make you a deal. You jinx Fred and George and ... um ... make me treacle tarts for a week; I'll pinch the cloak from my mum's house, pick up some Chinese food this weekend, and hex the next person who rings the doorbell."

"The next person? Kingsley knows not to use it, Mad-Eye is out, the twins just Apparate ... " He stopped, and his eyes regained that devious gleam. "Mundungus."

Tonks smiled wickedly. "Exactly."

Remus rubbed his face, clearly comparing the virtues of getting back at Dung (he'd left a huge shipment of cracked Foe glasses in the library two days ago, and even Mad-Eye was peeved with him) to the perks of retaining order. Mischief seemed to triumph, though, for he nodded at her and smirked faintly. "Despite the inkling that I'm getting in over my head, I agree. I hope you have some good, obscure curse in mind."

"Something like that."

She didn't have much time to plan out her defence. The doorbell clanked ominously moments later, soon accompanied by the shrill cries of Mrs. Black - muted in the kitchen, but unfortunately still audible. Throwing a quick glance at Remus, Tonks shot to her feet, knocked over her chair, and ran up the stairs to the hallway. Remus followed a few steps behind, and as they neared the threshold he motioned her towards him.

"I'll deal with the portrait, then nip in the coat closet. Best to cherish a bit of evilness before my conscience seizes control again."

"Ha. Watch, I'll hex him before his bloodshot little eyes even recognize where he is."

He shot her a disapproving look, and she snickered. "Just in good fun!"

Remus pulled out his wand and then grabbed hold of one of the curtains, muttering what sounded like a Fermesce Charm under his breath. After several seconds, during which Mrs. Black's insults increased in both vehemence and volume, the hangings snapped shut and the commotion ceased. He sprinted to the closet and pushed his way inside, leaving the sliding door open a crack.

Tonks walked towards the doorway, yanked her wand out of her back pocket, and tapped the front door once with her wand tip. Trotting to the bottom of the staircase, she sank into a crouch - lost her balance - got back up - fell over backwards - tried to ignore the muffled laughing noises issuing from the closet - finally assumed a comfortable position - and watched the door.

She heard rather than saw the locks click open and the heavy chain slide out of its latch, her eyes focused on the wood floor as she desperately searched her memory for a short but nasty curse. Her Stinging Hexes tended to produce not welts by horrid, painful boils; a Hair Warp jinx, while producing amusing results, was slightly difficult to reverse. But last summer Ginny had shown her a modified hex that was wickedly annoying ...

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she wiped the wide grin off her face and assumed a look of careful concentration as she pointed her wand at the door. The handle wobbled slowly, then as the last _click_ sounded the door swung open and a dark figure stomped onto the welcome mat.

"_Pteramentia_!"

Tonks flicked her wand at the end, adding the little twirl that Ginny had taught her to increase the number of bat bogeys, and giggled victoriously.

But in a few seconds' time she began to realise that something was wrong. The man was too tall to be Dung; and as she crept forward for a closer look, she noted that his fashionable black clothing was a bit too nice for the thief. He bobbed his head wildly, clawing at the fluttering nuisances flying around his face, then stumbled into the light.

He had a ponytail. A red ponytail. A bright red ponytail.

Bloody hell.

"Bill!" she hissed.

"Tonks! What the-" He cut off, swearing and waving his hands at the crazily flapping things.

Stifled laughter drifted over from the direction of the closet.

"I thought that-"

"You're bloody - _umph_ - dead!"

"But Dung-"

"Merlin's arse, Tonks!"

The sniggering abruptly changed to choking noises.

"I didn't mean-" she began quietly.

"Sodding - ow - bugger!"

"Sorry sorry sorry-"

"What were - _euh_ - you thinking?"

"Oh, Bill ... "

"JUST SAY ... THE COUNTERCURSE!" Remus screamed from the closet. "GOD, I CAN'T BREATHE!"

The curtains flew open again, and Mrs. Black launched into another round of abuse. Tonks flicked her wand half-heartedly at Bill and turned to see Remus emerging from the closet, an old trench coat wrapped around his neck in a stranglehold. She groaned.

"I think I'll go crawl in a hole now and die."

_tbc_


End file.
